


Power and Control

by maythecentrehold



Series: Power and Control [1]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, every character you love is dead, you'll understand the joke later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maythecentrehold/pseuds/maythecentrehold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Appearances, as you may know, can be deceiving. This statement is more true than usual in the hallowed halls of Silas University.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power and Control

**Author's Note:**

> "I want the dean to be a figurehead. I want hers to be false power. I want Carmilla to be the puppet master. Carmilla the terrifying, powerful creature of the pit who is so, so skilled at deception that she pulls in the entire dimwit squad with this tapestry woven of lies and devours them all. I want Carmilla who is unapologetic about her strength, her rage, her thirst for blood and the death of the world." Inspiration hit while I was drunk a few days ago, and now here we are.

Danny is the last to die. The amazon was the one who stood between her and the tiny one who was hers by right to toy with, and as such she can watch as Carmilla draws back the veil between this world and the next and thrusts them all through, one after the other. She is the power from within the darkest pits of hell, and now after so long biding her time, they will finally behold her in all her dark glory.

Perry is staunch as she faces her end. She has been the least meddlesome, and as such Carmilla lets her have the dignity of a quick death. Strong hands grip either side of a pale face and twist in one rapid motion, and the loud crack echoes through the room.

Danny is distantly reminded of the sound of snapping green wood.

LaFontaine is angry. They snarl and thrash and spit, torn between running to hold their Lola's limp body and ripping Carmilla limb from limb. Revenge takes priority and they start forward, but before they take two steps Carmilla has hoisted them into the air with a hand crushing their throat. It only takes moments for their legs to stop twitching. Their fight is gone, along with their life.

The laugh that rips from Carmilla's throat is not a sound from this plane. The laughter rumbles from within the deepest pit of hell itself.

Laura is indignant. She screams abuse, rage forcing her voice so loud that her throat goes raw. "I trusted you," she screams. "I trusted you; I fell in love with you, convinced myself that you were not the monster you told me you were for so long. I understand it now though. You weren't being stupid and broody; you were telling me the complete truth and I was too stupid, too in love to see it. Danny was right about you, but I was too hell bent on being kind. You are a monster, Carmilla Karnstein. I hope you rot in hell for the rest of eternity." Carmilla has crossed the room before the last syllable could hit the air. The breeze from her movement ruffles Laura’s hair, and a pale hand reaches out to tuck it behind her ear, fingers trailing gently down her neck to rest against her throat.

Laura flinches. Danny howls.

The pale hand rises to grasp Laura's chin, directing her gaze back to eyes so dark they are almost black. For a moment, the kernel of love in the pit of her stomach rears its head and Laura is drowning in those dark, mystifying eyes and that is all the time she needs. There is the cold glint of steel in the vampire's hand, and then there is a dagger deep in Laura's chest, dragging down, down into the softness of her belly in a ragged red line.

Laura's hands clutch at Carmilla’s wrist in place against her throat, and scarlet bubbles from her mouth as it gushes from her chest. Her eyes are wide and her face is pale as she falls heavily to her knees. Carmilla crouches as she follows her down to the floor, the twisted imitation of a loving smile pulled across red lips. A bloodied hand flutters from the hole rent in the young woman's chest to her lips as the demon cradles the small woman's head against her leg.

Lips press hungrily against the bloody streaks, Laura too weak to resist.

Laura Hollis is slipping away, life dripping past the veil mirroring the fall of her blood to the floor. Carmilla is a lioness, muzzle bloody as she hunches over her prize. A soft whisper swirls past an unhearing ear, and were it not for the carnage in which they lay, it would almost have passed for a tender moment between lovers.

"You were mine, little one. Had you simply listened to me, we could have ruled the world. But you didn't, you would not follow me into the night.  I could not have you, so now none but the creatures in the ground may kiss your skin. I could not have you, so now nobody will."

The torn expanse of ribs, muscle, heart and lungs glisten in the low light.

Danny is being restrained by the time Laura's still body hits the crimson pool on the floor. Will, Maman and a cluster of lesser followers cling to long limbs pulled tight against her thrashes. They lift her like she is a leaf on the breeze, so much dust instead of the honed killing machine that she has trained her whole life to be. She is thrown to the surface of a filigreed, raised dais, the impact of cold stone against her back driving the air from her lungs. The howling begins anew, guttural and choked in this newest iteration. Carmilla is atop Danny then, slender limbs pinning down the taller woman from her place astride her hips. A bloody handprint marks the torn shoulder of Danny's shirt, and she is acutely aware that it had so recently been running through Laura's veins. The ruddy mark burns like the sun. Danny thrashes harder, but Carmilla has her pressed to the slab with nearly crushing force, hands gripping her shoulders, knees braced on either side of her hips. It is too close, too intimate, and Danny is spitting with rage.

A look from Carmilla dismisses her following and they melt away, curlicues of dark smoke the only indication they had ever been there. Danny’s is the only beating heart in a room full of corpses.

Carmilla leans down, chest to chest in a bastardized echo of intimacy, lips brushing lightly against the thundering pulse in the redhead’s throat. Her head whips back and forth, desperate to escape the touch, but to no avail. Helpless as she is, Danny realizes with shocking clarity that they never stood a chance. Not against this.

The touch of the demon’s lips spans the entirety of her neck, an invisible trail burning along her skin like salt in an open wound. The lips move lower, lower, teeth and tongue leaving bright marks against pale skin, a damp trail winding from jaw to chest. Phantom lips stay pressed to every spot, and Danny feels crushed under their ghostly weight. Their flesh and blood cousins press over and over to the skin above her heart, rasping again and again to the point where Danny is sure the flesh has rubbed away and her heart lays beating against the air.

Her thrashing has ceased for the moment, but every fibre of her being is pulled taut, tension holding her body ready for her moment freedom presents itself. Lips still in their movement against her skin, and Carmilla pushes herself upwards for a moment, eyes hooded as she gazes down at the bruised woman beneath her. A slow, dark smile rolls across her face, and Danny watches in perfect clarity as her pupils blow out, barely a sliver of dark brown iris left around the empty blackness of pupils. Eyes are said to be the windows to the soul, but above her Danny sees nothing at all but the gaping blackness of hell.

Danny lays transfixed by those dark eyes, too caught in the darkness to realize that they were moving closer and closer to her own. Their descent stops when Carmilla’s face hovers barely an inch away, Danny’s breathing making tendrils of dark hair swing in lazy arcs. When she speaks, the low notes of her voice are almost too quiet to be heard.

“I am about to do something here, Miss Danny Lawrence. I’m afraid that you might not like it very much.”

Her brain is lethargic, slow, like moving through molasses as it tries its hardest to process the words still curling through the air. Those fiery lips are once again back at her chest, and she feels them curl in a smile. Strong hands have moved from shoulders to throat, thumbs below each corner of her jaw while fingertips gently overlap on the ridge of her spine. Gaze broken, her lethargic thoughts are gaining speed once more, and as her brain snaps into gear once again, there is a searing ache in her chest, like a pair of iron needles have pierced her skin and sunken deep into flesh. Recognition washes over her then, and she bucks, hands coming to knot hard in dark locks against the monster’s skull. She has been bitten.

She wrenches upwards with all of her strength, hands aching and nails digging crescent shaped gouges into her palms. A ragged scream tears up her throat, muscles straining, but the creature at her breast pays no heed to her struggles, legs keeping her pressed firmly down as the vampire continues to suck. Danny distantly remembers hearing somewhere, once upon a dream, that an adult has close to five liters of blood running through their veins. Five liters of life. Half of that volume, maybe more, will be bloating the demon’s stomach before she is dead.

Seconds pass like years as her blood flows from her body. She has accumulated plenty of injuries over her 20 years; broken bones and rattled her brain and torn her skin in training. Each time she has gathered herself and kept going. They will heal, she had always said. They will heal and I’ll be stronger for them. This time, she knows there is no healing. Some small measure of time has tumbled by in excruciating slowness. Her skin is growing pale, and her lungs ache and her heart thunders in her ears as her body desperately tries to bring blood and life to her slowly starving tissue. The pull at her chest continues on.

She grows cold, sweat breaks out on her skin. Her arms sag, their grip against Carmilla’s skull the only thing keeping them up as her strength wanes. Too soon, that fails too, and her pale hands strike the marble upon which she lays. Her chest aches, screaming at her but she can do nothing to stop it. The once strong beat of her heart against her ribs is absent. Still the iron spikes are settled deep in her flesh, so icy that her skin aches. There is darkness pooling at the edges of her vision and the ceiling above her wavers.

Thoughts do not come easily now. Danny is pale and cold like the light of the stars.

Carmilla sits back on the redhead’s thighs. Her breathing is heavy, a ruddy flush deep across her pale form. A rivulet of blood runs unnoticed down the pale column of her throat, disappearing below the hem of her shirt. She takes a gentle hold of the back of her prey’s skull, lifting her head toward her even as she shuffles backward in her lap. She cradles her head against a forearm, delicate and gentle in a mirror of her pose over Laura only minutes before.

One thin wrist is drawn to her mouth, iron fangs tearing deep into cool flesh. She pauses for a moment, scarlet dripping quickly down her arm, dripping from the point of her elbow to the skin of her bent leg. A wan smile perches atop thin lips, and a faint, faint pulse whispers to her as she presses the wound to a slack mouth, limp body cradled against her shoulder like a mother with her child. Whatever faint remaining sliver of Danny Lawrence’s higher functioning takes over and she swallows, repeating the action again and again as her mouth fills. Blue eyes flutter beneath their lids, and the wrist is gently withdrawn from pale lips, replaced for a moment with her own. She arranges Danny delicately upon the slab, pale and glorious.

The tiny, thready motion of her heart slows to stillness, and Danny Lawrence lays motionless upon her bier of stone for minutes that stretch like centuries across the darkness. The world stops in its motion, the stars themselves burn into oblivion, and Carmilla waits. There is a flicker, absent one moment and there the next and a death rattle heaves from Danny’s throat. Even as her body cools, blue eyes flash open, pupils blowing wide before they contract, and she knows what has happened. Danny Lawrence takes her first breath of un-life, and she screams.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts and opinions on style, phrasing, pacing et cetera are more than welcome.


End file.
